Are there serious inquiries into the fundamental stratum of being — that groundless ground, that absent foundation upon which all knowledge rests like a fragile illusion? We live as though engaged in a pleasant game, immersed in comforts, yet all the while oblivious to the real.
We do not know what we are, nor where we find ourselves, nor the nature of the objects that enclose us. Our awareness is dulled by the perpetual alchemy of neurotransmitters — serotonin, dopamine, endorphins — chemicals that sustain the illusion of stability. They convince us that the world is a playground, familiar and solid. Yet what surrounds us may be nothing of the sort, but rather an abstract void — the very absence of foundation itself.
We do not know what we are, nor where we find ourselves, nor the nature of the objects that enclose us. Our awareness is dulled by the perpetual alchemy of neurotransmitters — serotonin, dopamine, endorphins — chemicals that sustain the illusion of stability. They convince us that the world is a playground, familiar and solid. Yet what surrounds us may be nothing of the sort, but rather an abstract void — the very absence of foundation itself.
